#16 Dizzying Cohabitation Life (2)
Yuchan twirled a pen between his fingers. On the table in front of him sat some decent snacks—jamón ibérico de bellota, the thinly sliced hind leg of acorn-fed Iberian pigs cured in salt, perfect to pair with wine. To avoid overpowering the expensive ham's flavor, he'd chosen a cheap supermarket wine with minimal umami. The melting fat and salty savor dissolved in his mouth without a hint of gaminess. Since he couldn't be with Nayae for a while, he'd have to sublimate his pent-up lust with fine food. To Seohyun, Nayae had to remain the image of an innocent, shy girl untouched by the world's filth.
Yuchan sucked the pig fat from his fingers and swallowed a sip of wine. He'd taken yesterday off to arrange a meeting between Seohyun and Nayae. Since he'd already told them to deduct it from his pay, he felt no guilt. The low salary was offset by the high freedom, which was why he still worked at the academy. If he joined some corporate drone that nagged you for taking sick days, he'd suffocate under the workload. Truth be told, with three buildings inherited in Seoul alone, Yuchan had no need to worry about money. Every month, rent payments in the tens of millions poured into his account from across the country. But humans needed labor. A life without work was no different from that of an Iberian pig.
At the table, now repurposed with a new chair from the academy, Yuchan organized his tasks. Top priority: dealing with the stalker. As Seohyun had said, if it was a persistent one, he'd sniff out her move in as little as two days. Yuchan would strike first. He checked the photos Seohyun had sent via KakaoTalk—about five shots. A normal woman would be too scared to even attempt counter-stalking, but Seohyun's boldness gave him a sense of her personality. Four were blurry, but one was crystal clear: the stalker in a red cap worn backward, like some religious statement. Modern smartphone cameras had insane resolution, so Yuchan pinched to zoom in. After a few filter tweaks, the face sharpened.
"Gah!"
Staring at the photo of the stalker crouched between cars, Yuchan recoiled in surprise.
"He's disgustingly ugly."
No joke—he was genuinely hideous. There was a slang term, "face like it's been ground up," but this guy looked like he'd spent a year in a mill. If he ever became a wanted criminal with a composite sketch, "extremely ugly" would be the standout feature. No wonder Seohyun was terrified. Even Yuchan would lose sleep—or just kill the bastard outright—if one latched onto him.
Yuchan flicked the last slice of ham onto his tongue, rinsed his mouth with a cigarette, and pondered. He'd told Seohyun to hole up at Nayae's for a day or two, skipping work. Unless the stalker knew about the move, he'd still be lurking nearby. Yuchan would stalk the stalker and give him a beating. Worst case, kill him—but he wasn't keen on that. Murder was a last resort for Yuchan, a choice among many, not a pleasure. He framed his relationship with killing as "one of many options others lack." It was high-risk. Killing some random nobody could backfire spectacularly.
"Dialogue first, then."
Meeting him wouldn't be hard. Yuchan grabbed a black mask and cap. Time to play hero for justice.
2.
Yuchan paced in front of Seohyun's apartment entrance, smoking. He'd gotten her keys in case security questioned him. Spotting the red cap should be easy, but it wasn't showing. Maybe the guy was cautious, or maybe he only wore it backward in front of her for the thrill of terrorizing her. Red was too conspicuous for actual crimes, after all. He might get off on leaving a signature mark to psychologically torment her—a pervert's delight. The sun had set long ago, and the asphalt, baked by daylight, cooled to a chill. Dressed light and not expecting a five-hour wait, Yuchan's body heat ebbed away.
Might as well jog, he thought, breaking into a slow run. It drew less attention. His steel-plated sneakers weren't ideal for sprinting, but he circled the neighborhood vigilantly. A shady creep like that would lurk in shadows like a toad. Then, far off, a figure: red cap. Outdated long hair, more neglected mess than styled, matching Seohyun's photo exactly. Yuchan stayed calm, subtly altering his route. Too far to chase now; he needed another face check, and alerting the guy was risky. Glancing sidelong without staring, he watched the red cap turn and head back the way he'd come.
"Damn."
Running? No, just quick steps—catchable. Confirming the red cap exit the entrance and round the corner, Yuchan accelerated. The figure ducked into an alley between rundown shops. Alleys were trouble; even Yuchan's speed couldn't guarantee no lost turns. He took a deep breath and sprinted full tilt.
Back in high school, studying abroad in Michigan with his uncle's help, he'd tried out for rugby on a whim. Deep into training then, his physique was non-Asian: 183 cm, 102 kg. His 40-yard dash time? 4.62 seconds. Pro scouts had swarmed him with handshakes. Recalling that, Yuchan exploded forward. Pedestrians stared. The 100-meter gap vanished. Bursting into the buildings, hunting the red cap—then a towel slammed over his mouth from the side. Acrid stench: chloroform. Risky stuff nowadays, used mostly in labs for frog anesthesia, with better alternatives aplenty.
"Grrk!"
Yuchan held his breath, twisted the wrist gripping the towel, and flung the arm wide. The red cap's feet left the ground, slamming into the wall like a sack of rice. Yuchan's raw strength made it possible, skinny or not. He tried to hold the arm, but dizziness from the fumes made him release. Chloroform wasn't movie-instant; soaked cloth needed five seconds on the face to knock you out. Ignoring blurred vision, Yuchan kicked to pin the fallen stalker.
Thud!
A massive crash—AC unit shattered. No bone-crunch feel. Blind swing missed. Eyes stinging from the chemical, Yuchan squinted at the stalker on the ground.
"D-die, y-you f-fuckin' bastard."
Stuttering, veins bulging in his eyes, the stalker clutched a pistol-like self-defense tool: X26 Taser. Most common worldwide—fires barbed probes to disrupt the central nervous system. "Self-defense" for something so lethal? It caused muscle lock and sensory overload. Yuchan's muscular build would amplify the agony. Already aimed, too close to dodge, no room to dive.
Yuchan clenched his teeth. Five seconds of current for safe takedown. Stay sharp, rip one probe—game over.
Zap-crackle!
"Nngh...!!!"
Current surged like iron fists crushing every muscle. Yuchan steadied his buckling knees, swung his rigid arm like a log, and swatted the wire. Pain vanished. But his body lagged. Should've trained for this. Muttering regret—a white towel descended again.
3.
How much time passed? Yuchan came to. Dripping water echoed. Skin chilled. Shirt and shoes gone. Rain outside, probably. Black plastic bag over his head blocked vision. Staying limp to feign unconsciousness, he assessed. If they hadn't killed him immediately, they wanted something. Ears strained for sounds amid dead silence, breathing steady. Lingering cramps from the spasms ached everywhere. Nayae must've felt like this, he half-seriously reflected. He'd bound victims like this countless times, but first time as the victim. Hands cuffed behind: standard handcuffs, teeth locked about ten notches tight. Iron chair—cheap school surplus type.
How'd the stalker anticipate pursuit? Chloroform and Taser made sense for targeting Seohyun, but the tail was stealthy. He'd turned and lured to an empty spot instantly. Caught him with Seohyun alone? Stalkers' jealousy was insane; it'd explain the ambush. Too careless. Yuchan rued his mistake.
The bag ripped off, fresh air flooding his lungs.
"Y-you up? F-fuckin' bastard?"
The glimpsed face under the cap grinned. Monkeyish lower jaw, crooked fangs like a horror show. Burn-scarred skin worse in person.
"Y-you should've s-said somethin' when you woke. Makin' me w-wait, y-you shit..."
A massive monkey wrench in his hand, tapping his palm threateningly—or trying. It looked awkward, zero intimidation. Like a middle school nerd playing delinquent with his first cig.
"Sh-she was right. S-said flies like you would buzz around."
Severe stutter. Eyebrows a jungle, hopeless self-neglect. Shaggy hair, spiked beard, sunken eyes with bluish sclera sheen. Total societal reject. Victim complex type blaming the world, rage amplified. No Black Box needed; Yuchan profiled him instantly.
"She?"
First words from Yuchan. The stalker leered wide, tapping Yuchan's forehead with the solid metal wrench. It stung.
"C-curious, huh?"
Thrilled at holding life-and-death power. Yellow teeth gleamed moonlit. Yuchan scanned: underground parking. Only a black van, likely the transport. Who sold him out? Only Nayae, Seohyun, and himself knew the plan. Neither girl had motive to leak. Wait—Yuchan inwardly sighed. How'd he forget the other psycho? Might be four who knew. Someone watching him closely.
"Y-you're gonna d-die by my hand. Heh-heh-heh..."
For once, Yuchan craved profanity. What a shitshow.